After laughing heartily for quite a while.
Orsaga finally stopped.
His expression vanished, replaced by a calm gaze raised toward the Blood War participants overhead, who were being randomly teleported in from outside like dumplings dropping into a pot.
It had to be said: freedom in life, randomness in death—it truly was no lie.
These unlucky souls randomly teleported into this area.
Every single one of them.
Would die.
Like food being automatically fed to him.
The instant they arrived, they would be killed in seconds, becoming airdropped resources that hastened Orsaga's recovery from his injuries.
And as he devoured them.
At every moment.
Within Orsaga's mind, he could read exactly what ambitions and thoughts those who had dared to join the Blood War possessed, and what sort of courage they had mustered.
Among them, there was certainly no shortage of exceptional individuals blessed with talent, aptitude, courage, and fortunate opportunities.
But... what use was any of that?
Obviously.
It was completely fucking useless.
Strength would not change because of such meager hopes.
Nor would one's circumstances.
Those whose talents went unrecognized.
Those who died before their undertakings could even begin.
Were more numerous than crucian carp crossing a river...
One after another, they died without a sound or a name...
Thus, Orsaga was very glad that he had made it all the way to his current position.
Right now.
He lightly raised his right hand.
And casually clenched it.
Blood-colored light blossomed within it.
It was boundless power.
The faintest disturbance radiating from it was enough to alter the surrounding space-time.
Heaven and earth inverted, while countless things continuously twisted along with them.
The sight resembled an entire expanse of space-time being an unfurled painting.
And now.
Someone had wrung that painting.
Under the effect of that power.
In